


vaugely just

by preromantics



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Hey, man," is all Shia can think to say at first, because after the initial double-take he does when he realizes Robert Downey Jr. is standing next to him his brain sort of short circuits.<i></i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	vaugely just

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for a prompt on rdj_kink @ lj. For paitac, who is very bad at being anon.

"Hey, man," is all Shia can think to say at first, because after the initial double-take he does when he realizes Robert Downey Jr. is standing next to him his brain sort of short circuits.

"Hey," Robert (fucking Downey Jr, Shia's brain supplies, helpfully,) says back, turning to face Shia. He squints, a little, and Shia resists the urge to like, stick out his hand or just -- Shia doesn't know, and he really doesn't need to be in jail for jumping a guy almost old enough to be his dad. Probably.

"You're the Transformer's kid, right?" Robert asks, and next to Shia's ear the elevator dings up another floor.

Shia nods, "Yeah, man," he says, and then wants to swallow his tongue. Man? Really?

Robert nods back at him. "My kid -- Indio -- he went through a phase where he watched that all the time. I figured he either had a crush on you or Megan Fox, which would make more sense, but probably not, since he's my son. You know, come to think of it, he could have had a crush on one on the robots. You can never be sure about that sort of thing."

"Oh," Shia says, "yeah, right." He fidgets a little, out of his element. The baseball cap he has on his head seems out of place next to Robert's pressed suit. He's probably staring.

"Meeting," Robert says, apparently unaffected by Shia's hideous and sudden lack of social and conversational skills. He gestures down at his torso and Shia follows his hands down.

The elevator door opens with a ding onto an empty floor, and Shia looks at the emergency stop button and wonders what Robert would do if he pressed it.

His options seem pretty positive: one, attack him, which would make an awesome party story and would probably be really hot, two, look at him with an eyebrow raised (probably also really hot) and then call for help and ignore him, and three, the best option: make-out with him against the elevator wall until someone came to get them.

Shia is completely sure the last option is nowhere near plausible, but when the doors to the elevator shut again on the empty hallway and they continue their journey upwards, Shia shuts his eyes once and then casually steps to lead against the wall with all the glowing buttons on it and knocks his elbow into the emergency stop.

"Shit," he says, mostly for effect when the elevator halts.

Robert looks at him for a second and then laughs, head tipping back. "Nice one," he says.

"Uh," Shia says, because he doesn't feel like his brain is following Robert's logic quite right. (Obviously, it wouldn't, Shia is completely not yet on that plane of awesome. Oh, god, he is so lame. This is not becoming a party story, ever.)

"I pulled the same thing once," Robert elaborates, "eleventh grade, three days before I dropped out. Pressed the emergency stop button so I could feel up the geometry teachers." He nods.

"Sounds --" Shia starts. Crazy, badass, _did you guys make out?._

"Looking back," Robert says, hand on his chin, "I can see why high school didn't really work out for me."

"I can see that," Shia says, agreeing. His voice is maybe an octave different than usual, but to be fair, Robert is edging closer to him in the small space, backing Shia into the wall.

"Story for a party?" Robert asks, leaning close. Shia could -- he could cant his hips up just a little bit and press against Robert, he's so close.

Shia sucks in a breath. Play cool, man, he tells himself. Like a high school pep talk before dry humping in the back of a pick-up. These things work out.

"Teenage fantasy," Shia corrects, shrugging with one shoulder. He laughs a little after, low.

Robert shrugs back. "I do what I can," he says, "for the good of mankind, for teenage fantasy, you know how it is."

Shia has an agreement halfway out before the sound is blocked by Robert's lips on his own, demanding and hard, sides of his mouth curled up wickedly.

Shia waits until the building maintenance people fix the elevator a half hour later, and then until he's halfway down the street towards his truck, and then until he's home -- his head isn't working quite right, it's mostly a litany of what the _fucks_, and _awesome_, -- to congratulate himself. And then to update his Netflix queue with all the movies on Robert's IMDB page he hasn't seen, and then to vaguely plan out how to get them alone in an elevator again. Or a hotel room. Or a janitor's closet. Shia isn't too picky, not when his lips feel pleasantly like they don't really belong to him, hot on the surface, his hip vaguely aching in a way he thinks means he'll have a bruise from Robert's hand in the morning.


End file.
